


Measure in love

by EnlacingLines



Series: ShuAke week 2020 [2]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Post Game, Shuake Week 2020, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:41:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27633568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnlacingLines/pseuds/EnlacingLines
Summary: He fell in love one summer before he knew what love was. In love with words cracked back and forth, shaped with challenge and smirk. With gesture, of games and caffeine, all bundled up in one as he made his way through backstreets of the city, heart light with potential and grey eyes.Akira laughs against his chest. His heart rings.“Who are you falling in love with?” he asks, a smile in his voice, as if he doesn’t know, simply wants the words loud and in the air.Written for ShuAke Week 2020. Prompt: seasons
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Series: ShuAke week 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2018378
Comments: 12
Kudos: 100





	Measure in love

**Author's Note:**

> This is very sappy, but I couldn't help myself. 
> 
> Title is from Seasons of Love from Rent, as once a theatre kid, forever a theatre kid. 
> 
> Thank you to the lovely Valania for betaing <3
> 
> Enjoy!

Summer is burning; the heat rises from the asphalt, sending humidity high, everything murky and distorted. Goro’s head aches and his hair sticks to his neck, reminding him once more to get it cut—an ever-present thought that he doesn’t ever quite action. 

Summer is survival and anticipation; the city bustles and people stand too close, too much of them in his space, too much of everything when the world is too stuffy to focus. And too little of Akira, who sits slightly away, sleeps too far to the corner because the heat is engulfing and barriers have to be risen. 

They meet at the station. Akira looks up, smiles, looking too cool while Goro is so hot. Burning, always burning in the heat. 

“Let’s get drinks,” he says, knowing by now how affected he is, and links his little finger around Goro’s as they navigate the street. 

He knows Akira would do more, hang closer, kiss him hello. It’s Goro that can’t stand the tacky togetherness of skin in this heat, touch never enough, but also disgusting. Needing contact is hard, not having it is agony, and the heat does nothing for this revolving door of feelings he struggles with and Akira, somehow, wades through with him. 

He hates the summer. And yet, it is momentous. 

In the night he thinks of it, of summer past. When he cannot sleep, because it’s too hot and his mind clouds with insomnia that is not determined by temperature. He thinks of beginnings. Of starting points. 

Akira wakes early, as soon as the sun rises. Goro watches the waking, recalling that first summer meeting. His initial foray into combat with his target, unknown and off balance, jumping in too fast and irrefutably destroying his own cause. 

Perhaps he’d always meant to. Perhaps it’s always been fate. 

He pushes Akira’s hair from his forehead as he stirs, feels the strands, already slightly damp, slip through his fingers. He too, will need a haircut soon, but unlike Goro, he’s far better and maintaining these commitments to himself. 

He thinks of summertime in Leblanc. Recalls conversations, that fan which seemed to stutter into half-life, Goro sure it would die within the heatwave of August, and yet it outlasted the season; outlasted many things. 

“What are you thinking?” Akira murmurs, moving closer, curling in before Goro can request he does not, and this time he lets him. Lets the heat of the morning blend between them, Akira’s skin so soft, as he grips onto Goro’s sleep-shirt and his entire body relaxes.. 

“About falling in love,” he replies, for it is the next train. 

He fell in love one summer before he knew what love was. In love with words cracked back and forth, shaped with challenge and smirk. With gesture, of games and caffeine, all bundled up in one as he made his way through backstreets of the city, heart light with potential and grey eyes. 

Akira laughs against his chest. His heart rings. 

“Who are you falling in love with?” he asks, a smile in his voice, as if he doesn’t know, simply wants the words loud and in the air. 

Goro can sympathise. Doesn’t mean he gives in, though. 

“Hmm, many people, I’m sure—” he tries but Akira is tricky; no longer languid but lightning quick, up and hovering over him, all warmth and light and full of first of the day smiles. 

“Oh, really? I feel like I should remind you I’m here,” he says. Goro has so much practice of keeping his face impassive in the wake of this man who still, despite it all, cannot truly fathom how much Goro loves him. 

Because Goro can’t himself. He didn’t know he could ever feel this, that these emotions could belong outside pages of a storybook. And yet, here Akira is, pulling them out one by one with blink of those grey eyes. 

Goro lifts his arms, wraps them around Akira’s back, ignoring the way his brain protests at the feel of slightly slick skin. It’s worth it, to fall and feel. 

“Maybe you should, seems like I need it,” he says, but ruins it with a smile, contagious as Akira lowers himself down into a kiss. 

It steals his breath, takes his heart. Once again, he’s in love in summer, not for the last time, and not the first. But each second is worth the revulsion of the heat, each moment with Akira in the morning brightness as crucial as the next. 

The summer is burning, but Goro can withstand it after all. 

* * *

Autumn is, for some reason, their friends' favourite time of year. Goro has never really paid attention to the changes that it brings but finds himself forced into trying strange flavoured cakes and coffees, taken on trips to buy various aesthetically pleasing objects as the leaves start to fall. 

“Do you think the pumpkin patch, or the smoky woods?” Ann asks, holding two candles out to him. 

“They both stink,” he says and she rolls her eyes. 

“They do not, but if you have a better suggestion, be my guest,” she says, and he can understand why Akira left him to smell candles. Traitor. 

Ann eventually finds various candles and bits that are the perfect palette of browns, golds and red, before they meet up with Akira and Haru at the exit. The bag in Akira’s hand gives him pause. 

“We don’t need more things,” he says, and Akira takes his hand as they leave, shaking his head. 

“We do. We have no things—no things that are ours,” he says, as Goro opens his mouth to protest. 

It gives him pause though, as it is true. Goro doesn’t have things. Akira has photos, presents, memorabilia given and won through his life which Goro would have previously said clutters up living spaces. He keeps adding more things, slowly over time. Novelty glasses, more photos of their friends, and many he makes Goro pose for, framed and on display. 

They have very few of their things, because Goro missed out on all ways to accumulate anything. Had no sense of a need to cling to things, having to move and protect belongings, with a timestamp always left on.

The wind blows, a sudden chill, and darkness creeps in. The nights are getting longer and he’ll soon need a scarf to go out. Never a pleasant time of year. 

“Are you okay?” Akira asks, and Goro affixes a smile, knocking back thoughts for another time. 

“I hope there are no candles,” he says, but Ann hears him and yells, all falling into laughter as Haru’s phone rings. 

“Oh sorry, I’ll be a minute,” she says, answering and walking a little ahead for privacy. 

“We should bake something this week, I need cake,” Ann announces. 

“I’m not helping you bake,” Goro says, remembering the last time they’d tried. 

“I’m not asking you, you’re terrible in the kitchen,” she says. Akira laughs, hard and bright, a laugh that would have bothered Goro before, but now just its existence is curling warmth. 

“Sorry, honey,” Akira says, kissing him on the cheek. He turns back to Ann, the two beginning to discuss autumn desserts. 

Goro tunes them out as they walk, happy to just exist around the others, noticing the colours change around them, leaves burnished and clinging on, Akira holding onto his hand, offering small squeezes as they walk. 

“...Yes, the memorial will be at three. No flowers please, I’ll just say something but I want to keep it private. Yes, I’ve informed the press team…”

Haru’s voice echoes then fades as their paths almost meet. Goro’s heart thuds, breath short, world crushing in. 

It is almost October. 

That is what the autumn brings: another memorial, another remembrance of bloodstains he cannot wipe clean. It’s not been long enough—will it ever be long enough? He hopes not. He hopes he never gets used to—

“Goro? Hey, we’re going this way,” Akira says, suddenly extremely close, in front of him, almost as if he knows exactly where he’s sliding to. 

“Sorry, I’m done! Oh, you look pale, are you feeling well, Goro?” Haru asks, jogging over, and peering at him, concerned in the same mirror Akira is. 

Worry. True worry. Time has made that change. He cannot fathom why her forgiveness was given, has lived through how hard it’s been on both sides. But he’ll never truly forgive himself, which is not her burden to bear. The date of her father’s death, though, will loom around him no matter how hard he tells himself he does not deserve to mourn. 

“I’m fine, sorry,” he says, and Akira gives him a look but does not say anything. Simply spins them around, a tighter grip on his hand. Haru, as if she too knows, loops her arm in his and asks about the plants she gave him last week, conversation flowing quietly while Ann and Akira go back to cakes. 

Home is quiet. Goro’s mind is loud but empty, and he comes back from the shower to find their front room in quiet illumination. Candles, not the scented type, he realises, are dotted around, all mulberry red and sturdy; a good addition. 

Akira sits on the sofa, a long, deep red blanket draped over himself. He looks up and smiles, kicking it aside and opening his arms. Goro moves straight into them, bestling himself in the hold, back against Akira’s chest and blanket pulling over them both. Akira kisses the back of his neck and Goro aches in love and mourning. 

“Like our stuff?” Akira says, pleased and knowing. 

Goro hums but otherwise doesn’t reply. Lets the lights dance and the warmth flood though, Akira’s arms tight and grounding, nowhere else he’d rather be. 

* * *

Discontented winter has always been a notion that rings true each time the seasons change. Goro has always had affinity with dying things, and the world frosts and re-freezes over and over for months on end, and with it comes the days that simply stop. 

He always hated winter. Being cold, no matter how many layers he wears, the false cheer of the seasons that he’d always been removed from, the start of yet another year, another set of days and hours when things would inevitably get worse. 

It always seemed so pointless in winter. And then, of course, Goro had to mark the season by killing his boyfriend and almost dying. 

There are hardly happy memories associated with the cold rolling in. Goro forces himself to the doctor when he needs, keeps up with the sessions that sometimes make his teeth clench; doesn’t run out of supplies because this time of year has a tendency to make him fall violently off edges when he can usually cling on. 

But mostly, he does it for Akira. As out of the two of them, Akira is worse in winter. 

Akira once told him he was strong for working through the inevitable crash and burns that are still far too frequent in his existence. He still struggles not to think himself as weak for falling apart for no reason he can fathom, mind just caving when he kept it together for years on end with just willpower and hatred; but of course, those methods were making the ultimate ending worse. 

Akira stands solid while he knits himself back together, every time. He is the support and forgiveness while Goro keeps moving in broken steps. So when Akira needs him, he’ll drop every single responsibility in the universe to make sure he’s there, even if he thinks he pales in comparison to the support he always receives. 

“What time is it?” 

Akira’s voice is flat. He walks into the room and Goro lets him move, curbs that need to reach out for his own reassurance. Akira’s been asleep for hours, this week turning into one of those that melts into seconds to get through, and Goro has simply let him rest as long as he needs. 

Which, personally, he can deal with better than the nightmares. The nightmares are a constant on both sides, but grow in winter. Despite time, Akira does not ever talk of them. Goro knows where they stem from, has cycled through the self hatred of his own part in ending that day so horrifically, but that’s his own burden born of choices. It’s not Akira’s to relieve. Still, he never quite thinks he can comfort correctly, knowing he’s a figure in such terrors. 

“Just after six. Are you hungry?” he asks, as Akira moves into the kitchen. 

“Maybe. I should eat,” he says, and Goro stands then, moving over. 

“Let me do it?” he asks, and Akira slowly turns, having made it to the room but now seems lost and nods once. 

Thankfully, they have left overs. Goro can handle that. He heats up last night’s meal, of which Akira barely had half his share, and makes tea while he’s at it. From the other room, he hears Akira shuffling around, and something lifts when the sounds of the TV hum to life. 

He finishes, bringing a tray with steaming food over, Akira smiling tiredly when Goro hands him his bowl. He looks as if he’s not slept in weeks rather than had nearly twelve hours today, and on impulse Goro kisses his forehead as he settles beside him. 

Akira’s smile grows and Goro feels his own stretch. The television is playing some festive movie of dubious quality and cliché dialogue, but it’s mind numbing enough that it soothes him while they eat. When they’re done, Akira picks up his cup and shifts closer, and Goro pulls their blanket off the back of the couch to fully cover him as Akira settles at his side, head resting on his shoulder. 

“We should go see the Christmas lights tomorrow,” he says after a moment, and Goro closes his eyes for a second, just reveling in the lighter tone. 

“Whatever you want,” he says, and Akira leans up to kiss his cheek. 

“I want to spend the day with you,” he says, determined because some days getting up is harder than fighting a thousand shadows. 

“I would love that,” Goro says, and intertwined his hand with Akira’s under the blanket. 

“We have to get Christmas themed cookies,” he says, and Goro wrinkles his nose. 

“Must we?” he says, and he can feel Akira smiling against his neck. 

They both know he’ll do whatever festive activity Akira suggests the next day. Not just to make him smile, even though that in itself is reward enough. But because Goro does actually enjoy these things, once forbidden by lack of people in his life, or his own construction of himself. 

It’s never too late to start enjoying things, though. Even in the depths of winter, small joys can be found. 

* * *

Spring is when they found each other again. A marvel, fate, beating the impossible or simply just fulfilling what was always meant to be. Goro doesn’t know which, but the hope marks every step as the blooms spin in the mild air. 

There has been so little hope in his life, that spring always has an effect on him. The future seems endless, the potential just brimming, the world expanding even if his day only involves travelling across the city. 

It’s getting warmer but he still needs gloves and his long coat. As the door of the café opens, more petals slip inside, the heating welcome after the walk from the station. He nods at Makoto, who gives him a smile that’s genuine but pinched. He rolls his eyes at her before ordering his coffee. 

“I have another suggestion,” she says as he sits before her. 

“Good morning, I hope you had a good week,” he says and she ignores him completely before pulling out a piece of paper from a red clear file. He admires the organization even if he knows he’ll be dreading this conversation. 

“This set of colour is still within the scheme, but apparently works better with the decor, seeing as the venue didn’t have chair coverings in the right shade,” she says, pointing. 

“Does the exact shade matter?” Goro asks, and Makoto looks at him pointedly. 

“I don’t think so, but Yusuke and Haru had an hour-long conversation yesterday and I get major friendship points for not calling you to join in,” she says. 

Goro nods. “I’ll pay for your coffee,” he says, and she laughs as his own is delivered. 

“Good, that’s done. Let me check the list,” she says, and Goro is so beyond glad he asked her to help with wedding planning. 

Makoto is the most organised person he knows, and while they more frequently than not butt heads, it’s mostly as they think similarly. She’d cried when they told the group they were engaged. It was endearing and utterly unexpected. 

Makoto spends the next hour running through the checklist of things still to be done, rearranging them by priority and timeframe, and honestly, Goro never imagined a wedding would involve such a high amount of admin. But he’s still sometimes bemused his life became one where someone asked to marry him, so he’d never really thought much of weddings in general. 

They finish their drinks and part ways, Makoto reminding him she’ll see him tomorrow evening, with the rest of the group. And perhaps today is a day to contemplate the mysterious working of things, for Goro finds himself in a daze as he makes his way back to the station, caught in a circle of the multiple people who have been aiding in this event. 

The group of people who care enough to try and make the day special. 

He is so distracted he doesn’t see Akira to begin with. Probably for the way he’s standing, just a little past the café underneath a tree, the blossoms framing his silhouette. Goro knows he’s chosen that for effect, those pieces of Joker which are always his, still crawling out at certain times. 

And just as when he was Crow, he’s drawn in like a moth to a flame, unable to look away, especially as Akira lifts his head and smiles. 

“Are you following me?” Goro asks and Akira nods. 

“Absolutely. Been tailing you hours now, just hoping you wouldn’t notice,” he says, and Goro is so stupidly in love in this second that he kisses him. 

Akira responds, always responds and right now is no exception, cupping Goro’s cheek as the kiss depends beyond the edge of what should be appropriate in public. He pulls away only when his lungs burn, delighting in the fogging of Akira’s eyes, that he can still cause that reaction. 

“This time next year, no more planning. We’ll be married,” he says, and Goro nods, knowing full well it is exactly one year to the date. 

“I do recall that,” he says, and Akira pulls him close, one arm around his waist. 

“One more year and you’ll be mine,” he says, deep and close to Goro’s ear, who pulls back and looks directly into his eyes. 

“I’ve been yours for a long time,” he says. 

Akira’s breath catches and Goro smiles before the kiss begins, anticipation not dulling any of the impact, his heart racing in the same manner it had at the very first kiss; the rush of delight exactly the same, but nowadays fear is replaced with love and contentedness. 

The seasons will twist once more, before he can marry this man. And Goro will take every second of those changes, the good and bad, combined to make up his life with Akira. And there is nothing more he could ever wish for. 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/EnlacingL/)


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